


How it goes

by magicalcookie664



Series: Vent stuff or something [4]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Morality | Patton Sanders-centric, Patton ODs yall I don't know what this is, Self Harm, sorry - Freeform, vent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:27:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25174591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicalcookie664/pseuds/magicalcookie664
Summary: He has a routine for days like these, so it'll be okay.
Series: Vent stuff or something [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1773316
Comments: 5
Kudos: 56





	How it goes

**Author's Note:**

> This is literally a messy vent -  
> I'm working on something worthy of posting I promise -
> 
> TW: PLEASE, PLEASE HEED THE TAGS.

When Patton wakes up, he already knows it's not going to be a good day. He has a routine for days like these, so it'll be okay. He allows himself to lie in bed a little longer, curled up under his blankets amongst his favourite plushies. He stares at the wall, noticing it's looking a little grey. He almost manages to fall asleep again, but forces his eyes to open, knowing he has things he's got to do today. 

Getting up is a mammoth task. It requires this thing called moving and he really isn't in the mood for that now. He slowly changes into his usual attire, hoodie, shirt, trousers and all. He feels dead as he does so, his limps heavy and slow-moving. 

He doesn't want to leave his room. He doesn't want to plaster on a fake smile today. He doesn't want a faux laugh; they're always so painful. What other choice does he have? Tear away his perfectly constructed facade and reveal how he truly feels inside to the others? No, of course he can't do that. He's supposed to be happy and so happy he will be. Even if it's slowly killing him. He'd rather die than disappoint his friends, his famILY. 

He leaves his room and moves to the kitchen to prepare breakfast, too tired to hum or sing this morning. He prepares the food in a robotic manner, not even noticing that he's only making three portions. He's subconsciously neglecting himself again. Oh well. He brushes it off when he realises, deciding he'll make himself something extra at lunch. Even he can see through the lie. 

The others filter into the room a few minutes later, Virgil and Logan making a beeline for the coffee machine, Roman singing a Disney song as Janus leads a jumpy Remus to the table in the adjoining dining room. 

Patton opens the medicine cabinet and slips an entire packet of Painkillers into his pocket. 

He can hear Remus and Roman begin to argue about something, the sound of Virgil hissing in response and Janus telling Remus to stop inhaling the orange juice. 

He sets about making himself a nice hot chocolate with marshmallows. He mixes the milk with the chocolate powder, watches as the the particles swirl about in the liquid. 

He can hear his friends talking to each other, the wonderful sound of laughter as they tuck into their breakfast. 

Patton finishes making the hot chocolate and walks to his room with it, pretending he isn't going to do what he's going to do. He closes his door behind himself and locks it, placing the mug of hot chocolate beside his bed on the coaster that resides there. He flops back onto his mattress and stares up at the ceiling. His whole room's looking a little grey today, he realises. 

He blinks, feeling the weight of his eyelids. He's almost tempted to fall asleep, but then his got chocolate would grow cold. A cold chocolate is not nearly as enjoyable. 

He sits up, glances down at the thin lines in his hands. He blinks, finding himself a little surprised that things in front of him remain the same. What did he expect, really, when he did something as mundane as merely closing his eyes and opening them again? Still, he can't help but feel disappointed. In stories, people blink and good things happen. In stories, people can have happy endings because the book ends before the story does. This isn't a story. 

He takes a sip of his hot chocolate, relishing in the warmth it gifts him. What a fabulous illusion it is, when something physical is able to fill in the place of something mental. It's never quite a perfect fit, but it suffices for long enough. He continues drinking until a third of the hot chocolate is done. Then he pauses, careful not to drink anymore. Not yet. 

_One._

He picks at the skin on his wrist, his nails digging into the flesh, digging and digging until he draws blood. He doesn't stop. He continues doing so until his writs bear two new crescent moon shaped cuts. He watches the blood well up from the small wounds, watches it run down his arm. 

He blinks, looks again. Still there then. What did he expect? 

He wants a blade, something sharper than his nails yet he doesn't move to find one. He stays at on the edge of his bed, his fingertips stained with drying blood. 

He picks the mug up and takes another sip. He only finishes when there's a third left. 

_Two._

He sets the mug down beside his bed again before slipping his hand into his pocket. He brings out the packet of painkillers and stares at the small box for a while, not really sure what he's doing. He fiddles with the packaging for a while before he finally gets it open. 

~~Patton, stop.~~

He tips all of the pills into his palm and stares at them. They're a dull white colour. How boring, he muses. 

~~Patton, stop. You've gone too far.~~

He strokes his thumb over the surface of one of the pills, simply enjoying the way they feel in his palm. 

~~Patton, you've taken things too far. You never go this far.~~

He tips his handful of pills into what's remaining of his hot chocolate. 

~~Patton, please~~. 

If he walks to his door an opens it, he'll be able to hear the others' voices as they talk to each other in the dining room. He should stand up and leave his room. He shouldn't be allowed inside it when he's like this. Too bad he doesn't care. 

~~Patton stop.~~

He takes the mug in his hands. 

~~Patton stop~~. 

Lifts it to his lips. 

~~Patton, god, no~~. 

And drinks. 

_Three._


End file.
